Smile, Sauce, Secrets
859 Words
The sun rose, and Alex wore his mask.
Not a literal one—though sometimes, it felt like he should. But his smile, his laugh, his easygoing charm… they were all masks now.
“Morning, boss!” chirped Danny, the teen who worked part-time cleaning tables and delivering garlic bread. “You look like you got hit by a bus.”
“Just tripped on life,” Alex said, forcing a grin.
His back ached. His arms screamed. But he kept flipping dough like a champion.
The shop was alive with noise again—sizzling pans, open-mic rock music from the old speaker, and the usual stream of weird customers. One lady ordered a vegan pizza and insisted on watching him cook it “to make sure the vibes were right.” Another guy argued about pineapple being an "insult to Italian blood."
Same chaos. Different Alex.
But he played his role perfectly.
Nobody knew that at 4 a.m., he was training to disable a grown man with a stick. Nobody knew that his nightmares had stopped—replaced by something worse: purpose.
And as he handed over a pepperoni pizza with extra cheese and a bright “Have a killer day!” — he meant it.
Literally.
Pineapple and Paranoia
It started with a simple order.
“One large pepperoni, no mushrooms. Name’s Vic.”
Alex didn’t think much of it. Just another walk-in customer with a fake gold chain and mirrored sunglasses — the kind who looked like he belonged in a karaoke bar, not a crime scene.
But then Vic smiled.
Not a nice smile.
The kind of smile that knew things. The kind of smile that reminded Alex of that night.
“You own this place?” Vic asked, drumming his fingers on the counter.
“Yeah,” Alex replied.
Vic nodded slowly. “Good vibe. Cozy. Family-friendly.”
He didn’t blink once.
Then he added, “I used to know someone who ran a pizza place. Until he disappeared. Shame. They never found the body.”
Alex’s fingers tightened around the pizza cutter.
It could’ve been a joke.
It could’ve been nothing.
But something about the way Vic looked at him—like he was measuring his pulse, not his price—made Alex’s stomach twist.
The man left with his pizza and a wink.
Danny leaned over. “Dude, that guy was weird. He tipped with a cigarette.”
Alex didn’t answer. He was too busy watching the street.
Waiting to see if Vic came back.
Eyes in the Rearview
Alex waited until the shop closed.
He told Danny to lock up early, made an excuse about “needing to run payroll,” and slipped out the back door wearing a hoodie, cap, and silence.
Vic had paid in cash—no receipt, no trail. But Alex had seen the man walk down 4th Street, carrying the pizza like it was a time bomb. That was enough.
He followed at a distance. Just close enough to track. Far enough not to be noticed.
The city at night looked different when you weren’t delivering food. Every corner became a threat. Every glance became a question.
Vic turned into a narrow alley behind a pawn shop. No streetlights. No cameras.
Alex hesitated.
This isn’t you.
You’re a cook, not a cop.
But cooks didn’t see people stabbed in alleys. And cooks didn’t learn to kill at 4 a.m.
He stepped into the alley.
Empty.
No sign of Vic. No pizza box. Nothing.
Then—
A cough behind him.
Alex spun, heart punching his ribs, but it was just a homeless man, wrapped in five layers of ragged coats.
“You lookin’ for the man in gold chain?” the old man rasped. “He left in a black car. Didn’t come back.”
Alex’s stomach dropped.
So Vic wasn’t walking home.
He was being followed, too.
Blood Smells Back
“You followed him?” the old man asked, his voice steady, almost bored.
Alex nodded. His hoodie was damp from sweat and fog, his heartbeat still uneven. “He wasn’t just some guy. Something was off. He knew things.”
The old man lit his pipe slowly. “Describe him.”
Alex did—down to the chain, the sunglasses, the way Vic smiled like he’d seen corpses and didn’t mind.
The old man listened without blinking.
When Alex finished, there was silence. Then the old man exhaled smoke like a judge issuing a sentence.
“They’re sniffing.”
Alex frowned. “Who?”
“The old pack. The ones who eat the weak and throw away the bones.”
“You know him?”
“No. But I know his scent. They used to smell like that before they bled.”
Alex clenched his fists. “So what do I do now?”
The old man looked up, eyes sharp for the first time.
“You decide,” he said. “Do you want to keep surviving?”
Alex didn’t answer.
He stepped into the shadows of the alley, the pipe smoke still floating in the air behind him.
His silence was his answer.
- Writer
